


Omne Trium Perfectum

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ballet, Implied Sexual Content, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Polyamory, Romance, Slow Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, gratuitous Latin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: The best things in life come in threes. Yuuri, Chris, and Victor are not different.





	Omne Trium Perfectum

 

_One - two - three, one - two - three_

Yuuri holds the barre with his left hand as he raises his outside leg, unfolding it into the necessary position. Chris in front and Victor behind do the same. Yuuri has the highest angle, his leg still as stone. The _grand battement_ repeats until they change sides, and then…again.

Closer than both would be were this a real class, Yuuri feels bolstered by their warmth. When Chris puts his free hand on his waist, he smiles. When Victor reaches back, Yuuri entwines their hands.

At first, they’re off-beat, but Chris’s tempo slows as Victor’s accelerates, and then they’re in sync.

Yuuri smiles.

Just like always.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri runs to his bedroom after his skating practice with Yuuko and Nishigori, bypassing his family, and slamming the door closed once Vicchan’s safely inside. Only then does he remove his arms like a seatbelt from his torso, unzips his coat, and holds it in his hand. It’s a VHS tape, a blank one used for home movies and with a hastily scribbled label in Yuuko’s handwriting.

_Junior Worlds Men’s Solo Free Programs (VICTOR!! <3333) _

She’ll kill him if she knows, hence the sneaking. There are only two video players in the onsen: the common room and the private family sitting room.

Yuuri assumes a more casual stance and carries Vicchan with him to the den. He pushes in the tape with fingers too long for his hands thanks to an oncoming growth spurt, and he kneels as he fast-forwards to a spritely long-haired boy in black doing a warm up lap around the rink. He glides to the center, the Klieg lights catching the elegant crystals scattered over his costume.

Tchaikovsky begins, and recently-minted World Record holder Victor Nikiforov takes his audience on a journey about faeries and witches. Yuuri has only seen this once before, the day that changed his trajectory from _I love skating and am good at it_ to _I must be as good as Victor. I must win more and ascend to my full potential_.

When Victor completes his dance, Yuuri rewinds and repeats, redoes, redux. It’s been at least an hour when Vicchan yips for a walk and dinner, and Yuuri smuggles the tape back to his room, putting it between his mattress and his box spring.

After he turns his lights out for bed, he lies awake as his heart races, imagining himself in a matching costume as he and Victor dance together, drifting apart to reunite in each other’s arms over and over. He envisions finishing the piece in an embrace dipped like they're in a ballroom dance, Victor’s eyes clear and bright like a summer day.

Yuuri touches his lips with his fingers and dreams.

 

* * *

 

There is no music today: just movement, just breathing.

Having completed the  _battements_ , Victor holds Yuuri by the hips as he stretches one leg into a full extension. Chris presses on Yuuri’s back as he lies flat on his stomach into a split on the parquet. Victor guides Chris into a front split of his own. Yuuri guides Victor when he loosens his abductors.

They move slow and deliberate. Lilia gave Yuuri keys ages ago. As long as he cuts the power after and resets the alarms, she’s happy. They have no need to hurry, so they don’t.

When Victor returns to sitting from a stretch, Yuuri smiles and brushes the hair off his face. When Chris lies flat to catch his breath, Victor massages his scalp and Yuuri strokes the exposed skin above his waistband from his tank top riding up. Chris helps Yuuri finger comb his hair when his bun comes loose, and Victor rubs in between his shoulders.

It’s simple to bring Chris’s hand to his lips for a kiss at his pulse, to lean up and press one to Victor’s cheek, for Chris to kiss Victor’s shoulder.

From there, it’s always just so _simple_.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri understands on a surface level he’s earned his place here, but it feels fraudulent regardless — as though an ISU official will grab him by the neck and pull him into a locked room for a hard interrogation about how he snuck in.

Yuuri sits with a sports drink the same color of pink as Mari’s current hair color, and he makes himself look small. His hands need something to do, something tedious that occupies his attention, so he peels off the label on the bottle. _Fraises,_ he mouths silently.

“Strawberry,” a friendly, bright voice says. “Do you like those?”

Yuuri looks up; a boy in a Swiss Federation jacket stands in front of him. He’s probably a bit taller than Yuuri, and his curls are golden like sun rays. He has green-hazel eyes framed by these thick, beautiful lashes, and his smile is overwhelming and soothing at once.

It doesn’t taste like strawberry, Yuuri thinks, at least not like how strawberry tastes at home. France is far and confusing, though he appreciates how the people don’t expect outgoing bravado like when he was in Canada a month ago. “ _Ichigo_ ,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Itch-ee-go,” the Swiss kid replies. It’s passable, not perfect, but it’s fine.

Yuuri hesitates. “ _Fraise._ ” He winces, knowing immediately he butchered it.

“Close,” he’s assured with a small laugh. A hand’s held out to him, and Yuuri shakes it. “Christophe Giacometti!”

“Yuuri Katsuki from Japan,” Yuuri replies.

“Do you like cats, Yuuri?” Christophe asks. He opens a photo wallet, and there’s a bunch of pictures featuring a delicate, long-haired, gray cat. “Her name is Madeleine!”

Yuuri likes dogs better, but Madeleine is beautiful with her sharp blue eyes. Yuuri gets his own photo from his bag. “Vicchan,” he offers as he shows Christophe the brown, smiling poodle.

They talk so much about their beloved best friends that their coaches have to drag them apart. Too bad they end up on the podium together as Yuuri wins bronze to Chris’s gold.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri never intends to lose track, but the truth is they’re all on equal footing so it ultimately doesn’t matter.

Hands map his back; he thinks Chris was there, but then Chris is to his left. He nibbles at an Adam’s apple and is surprised that the voice vibrating through the skin is Victor’s.

A _pas de deux_ is featured in every grand ballet. Pairs skating and ice dancing each only have two participants as a team. For Yuuri, Victor, and Chris, the best things are in threes. Towel trios instead of doubles. A bed with no set guide for who sleeps in the center. Recipes that yield for six so they can all enjoy seconds. Red, purple, and blue toothbrushes by the sink, all the same brand with the same bristles.

Victor and Yuuri know how Chris prefers his steak. Yuuri and Chris have Victor’s sizes memorized. Victor and Chris can buy Yuuri more aftershave without a confirmation of the brand or scent.

Yuuri kisses and touches, is kissed and touched. They’re one unit with three moving parts, well-oiled and well-maintained.

 

* * *

 

The day began and Yuuri thought he would die from either exhaustion or heartache. No sleep, no serenity, scared to lose not only the path to Barcelona but the first thing in his life he can’t bear to let go.

Victor handles most of the interviews after the medals are given. Yuuri’s eyes sting more than they should. His mouth is dry, and his palms itch. He wants to lie down while Victor feeds him six or seven cheeseburgers.

They can finally go, and now Yuuri thinks he’ll drop dead from relief. Victor gathers his things while he rinses off the sweat and make up, changes into casual clothing, and after some quick goodbyes, he absconds with Yuuri back to their hotel. The door unlocks and opens, and Yuuri plops onto the mattress as he tries to ignore the sense-memory of Victor’s body holding him down, warm and…reviving.

Like a hummingbird, Victor flits around the room. He packs and unpacks, he looks at menus — he can’t stop or maybe he’ll crash too. “Victor?” Yuuri manages.

Victor pauses with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “Yes?”

Yuuri opens his arms. He’s sure his face is complex and tired, _so tired_ , but then Victor falls like not long ago in an arena and Yuuri’s head is safe as their lips meet for the second time. He draws Victor to him with his hands knotted in his suit jacket, and Victor utters some kind of litany into his mouth.

They resurface at dawn in a tangle of hearts and limbs, and Yuuri’s soul is full and serene.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes it snows in April, and with it comes dramatic change.

Sometimes it hails in January, and with it comes new heights and lows.

If Victor is a late winter storm and Chris an out-of-season thunderbolt, then Yuuri is the days where the rain falls heavy and warm while the sun shines down, its rays turning the water into small, soaking prisms. He shares umbrellas with both of them to the best of their ability, battening down, boarding the windows, and riding it out in their own little world.

Sealing them together, Yuuri exhales and inhales, setting the rhythm and the pace as though it’s another series of drills. The arc of Victor’s spine like _this_ , Chris’s legs parted like _so_.

Together and apart, _one - two - three_.

 

* * *

 

Victor is wonderful, but he can also be an idiot. It’s just a fact.

Penned into the center of his bed, Chris is wrapped around his back with Victor nuzzled into his side. They chat, bright and animated about days gone by, and Yuuri listens, sees the lingering Victor does sometimes on Chris’s mouth, and the way when Chris’s hands aren’t on Yuuri’s lower back they’re stroking Victor’s knuckles.

Yuuri should be jealous.

He’s not. Not even a little.

At some point, Yuuri chooses to kiss Victor in front of Chris — it’s unlike him, it’s not typical for Victor either —- but it feels like he should always kiss Victor with Chris around, and something else clicks.

“Now you two,” Yuuri says.

Victor asks him silently, and Chris kind of laughs. Then he says, “Maybe you and me first, Yuuri. We might need to warm him up to it.”

Yuuri gives Victor a look with a smile, and Victor’s gaze is a place between smoldering and worried. Yuuri squeezes his hand, gives him a second, quicker kiss, and then focuses on Chris. When he kisses Victor, it’s familiar and warm like when he sips his favorite genmaicha. When he kisses Chris, it’s similar but more like a long sip of strawberry milk tea.

The way Victor breathes tells him he’s alright, and he’s barely broken their kiss when Victor kisses Chris. Their bodies are still cold from the December air, but it only takes a moment for that to change. It’s all a blur, everything’s out of focus, and they didn’t plan this…

When he can think again, Yuuri laughs. He can’t do anything else, because _of course_.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri locks the studio after setting the alarms and dimming the lights when they leave. They stop at their favorite place for dinner, a bistro with better fare than the prices would imply, and Yuuri traces Victor’s thigh through his slacks while Chris holds his other hand until the food comes.

It’s _more_ love, not _less_ , and it _works_.

They take some cake to go, and once Victor lets them into their flat, Yuuri walks Makkachin, Chris feeds his Persian, Brigitte, and Victor pours three glasses of wine. When Yuuri and Makkachin return, they lounge on their couch tangled together as though they’ve always been. Three people, as different from each other as night, dawn, and midday, moving seamlessly within these walls and across a frozen stage.

Caught between Chris’s side and Victor’s chest, they breathe together: _one - two - three, one - two - three._

  _Everything that comes in threes is complete._

**Author's Note:**

> The last line is the translation of the title.
> 
> I like this trio, you know, it's exciting. /Montgomery Scott


End file.
